


Unanswered Questions

by Zhie



Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Bunniverse, Childhood Memories, Elves behaving silly, Fluff and Angst, Multi, Parlour games, Polygamy, Threesome - M/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-30
Updated: 2017-04-30
Packaged: 2018-10-26 00:03:03
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,042
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10775262
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zhie/pseuds/Zhie
Summary: While playing a parlour game, Erestor, Fingon, and Glorfindel get to know each other a little better.  Sometimes the more you learn about someone, the less you realize you know.





	Unanswered Questions

**Author's Note:**

> (Working Title: AO3 Challenge - this was written in answer to an anniversary challenge, but then took much longer to finish. Feb 14, 2017 - Apr 30, 2017)
> 
> Thank you to Hannah, Rachel, CNote, and InvisibleDragon, who assisted in the AO3 chat on the random animals needed for this story.

“Last card for tonight,” announced Glorfindel. He, Erestor, and Fingon were sitting together on the sunken sofa, playing a sort of game. It was was a box of cards meant to be conversation starters which could be used during less formal dinner parties, when everyone was having brandy and dessert in the parlour. Like most parlour games, there was no definitive winner - the questions were meant for fun and light banter. The deck was shuffled, and Glorfindel held the fanned out cards so that Erestor could choose one.

Like so many of the best things from Middle-earth, the game had come from Bree. Some of the cards were chipped on the edges, and all of them were worn. The questions were written in poetic form, some smudged from time or misfortune with food and drink. Erestor read the one he chose, which had a tear in it, to the others:

What is your secret pleasure?  
What is your hidden treasure?  
What do you value for leisure?  
What is desired beyond measure?

“These are weird.” It had become Fingon’s mantra for the duration of the game. Some of it was due to the nature of the questions -- while neither Glorfindel nor Erestor had ever believed they had a normal childhood, they were quickly learning that Fingon could win an argument about his irregular upbringing. He had already admitted to never having a stuffed toy (Erestor had a patchwork quilted duck, and later a plush wolf with real wolf fur; Glorfindel had an entire brigade of stuffed animals, including a white rabbit, a green mouse, three ducklings and a goose, a pair of robins, a raccoon, a red platypus, and a plush donkey mounted as a rocking horse) and never entertaining the idea of an imaginary friend (again, Glorfindel had more than Erestor). Fingon was also confused about childhood games (“This explains so much about Ereinion,” Erestor had remarked) and was unable to recite the simplest nursery rhymes (and was uninterested in learning any). Questions regarding his adulthood received only marginally better answers. He now sipped his wine and shook his head. It was one of the rare days when he had decided not to braid his long locks, so the masses of curls bounced back and forth with the movement.

Glorfindel took the card back from Erestor and returned it to the deck, and placed the deck into the box. “It wants to know what you are a devoted fan of.”

“Devoted fan?”

Erestor reached for the lid of the box, which had fallen to the floor at some point. “Such as, the hobby or interest you have that you would go beyond what normally--”

“That was rhetoric,” interrupted Fingon.

“I know. I can be a sarcastic shit, too,” confirmed Erestor.

“I can go first,” offered Glorfindel as he had with the other rounds. “So, when I came back to Middle-earth, obviously there was not much left as far as Gondolin. I was interested in gathering a few trinkets or artifacts from Gondolin, or replicas if that was all I could get.”

“He threatened to go find his grave and bring back his skull,” interrupted Erestor.

“Idle threat,” Glorfindel countered. “I just used the excuse to get my way whenever he was being difficult. Anyhow, finding anything from Gondolin was going to prove to be nearly impossible. I went to a few little shops that specialized in that sort of thing, but everything was either too expensive or of questionable origin. I noticed a few items one day that looked like they fit the period -- they were from Nevrast. And that was when I became Nevrast’s number one fan. It was just as difficult to find the items, but they were far more reasonable -- and forgeries were practically unheard of.”

“Interesting.” Fingon looked at Erestor. “Besides Feanor, what exactly do you ‘fan’ about?” 

Erestor’s cheeks flushed slightly. “Someone had to write his complete and accurate biography.”

“Ah, sure, but, it was three volumes and you embellished the crap out of that thing.” Fingon pointed at Glorfindel. “Did you read it?” Glorfindel shook his head with a frown. “Save yourself the days of your life you will lose and opt not to.”

“That was one of my better works,” grumbled Erestor. “Besides, all of the best things are trilogies these days.”

“Exactly. So, besides Feanor -- who, you can tell just how much love I have for him considering the lack of the ‘uncle’ title at this point in my life -- what else are you the biggest fan of?” prodded Fingon.

Erestor rubbed his chin. “Hmmm.”

Glorfindel smirked. “I know.”

“Shut up,” hissed Erestor. His cheeks were still red.

Fingon arched his brows.

“I know who it is, and you are just stalling so you can think of something else.”

“Shhh!” 

Fingon crossed his arms over his chest. “Just say it, Eres. If you refuse, Glorfindel will.”

Erestor huffed and glared at Glorfindel as he said, “I was rather fond of a person I met while I was in Middle-earth. He was a very good conversationalist and very kind and so help me, Glorfindel, stop making those faces,” Erestor scolded.

“He was the crackpot of Middle-earth!” burst out Glorfindel.

“Name?” Fingon’s voice was insistent.

“He went by Tom to most people.”

“Tom. Interesting name. Tom.” Fingon eased his gaze onto Glorfindel. “Was that really his name?”

“Well, yes, partly.”

Fingon looked back at Erestor. “Tom… I remember hearing this before… was that one of the trolls in that book I read about Mr. Baggins and the Dwarves?”

“Uh… might have been the same name,” said Erestor.

“Tom Bombadil,” blurted out Glorfindel. “The troll was different.”

“Never heard of him,” said Fingon.

“That was his common name,” explained Glorfindel. “Most of us referred to him as Iarwain Ben-adar.”

“Oooooh.” Fingon suddenly nodded. “Right. That makes sense, actually.”

“So you know him, then?” asked Erestor.

Fingon continued to nod. “And it all makes sense. Why you would be very… devoted to Him. Considering who He was. Is. You know.”

Both of his companions, one sitting on either side, became very quiet. “You know who he is?” asked Glorfindel in a low voice. “I mean, you know really who he really is?”

“Uhm…” Fingon licked his lips and rearranged the glasses of wine and other items on the table. He sat back and reached around to fluff his hair. “Oh, look, I still need to answer the question.”

“I will be asking about this again,” warned Glorfindel.

“I know. But I can stall for a really, really long time.” Fingon leaned forward so that neither one of them could look him in the eye and said in a very quick yet even voice, “I am not going to repeat myself and I will deny this if you ever bring it up in public, and I am going to bed immediately after because I will not be discussing it further. Turgon and I spent a lot of time together in the Halls of Waiting and mostly he told me stories, because Gondolin was far more interesting than most of the things I did. Whenever he told me stories about either of you, or both of you together, I would prod him along with them, because they were by far some of the most unusual and interesting. Sometimes he would tell the same story more than once, but I never stopped him.”

“I can see how you would love your brother’s stories. He was quite an exceptional loremaster in his own right,” said Erestor. “Likely, he still is.”

Fingon said nothing.

“No, I do not think he means that.” Glorfindel sipped his drink, and when Fingon did not immediately continue, he began to speak. “I believe he is saying--”

“Just… give me a moment,” scolded Fingon. “I am trying to word this correctly.” He leaned further forward and stretched his fingers down to touch his toes while he sat. “We crossed paths a few times, but I could see you were both really happy together. I mentioned to a friend how… convenient it would be if I could choose not to choose and just find a pair who was willing to… do what we decided to do,” he settled on. “When Turgon told me that he saw you at that masquerade, I came out of hiding, so to speak. He made it sound as if the two of you had a failing relationship or something, and I thought maybe… maybe something would happen and I would be there. I have no idea what I was really thinking. I hate events like that. I hated being there. I hated the whole concept that I was either going to fix things, or be there as someone’s second choice. I enjoyed the strange interactions we had back then. I let myself have some nice little daydreams. Turgon - and Finrod, who figured it out - gently grounded me. Then there was the whole Sarati thing. Beleg knew why I wanted to come and help. Why I wanted to follow the two of you here.”

“This is going to sound arrogant if I am wrong, but is your secret fan-of thing just us?” Erestor waved a hand between himself and Glorfindel, even though Fingon could not see him.

“Well, then, good night.” Fingon placed his left hand on Erestor’s knee, and his right on Glorfindel’s, and pushed himself up to stand. Before he could take a step away, both wrists were grasped, one from either side, and he was pulled back down to the sofa. “I should have saved the good-night until after I successfully escaped.”

“The destination is the same bedroom. We would eventually have found you,” Erestor reasoned. He still had a firm hold on Fingon’s wrist, but Glorfindel repositioned his arms around Fingon, just in case. Erestor went so far as to hook a leg around one of Fingon’s. “But since you are here--”

“No questions, please. I damn near made up a story about horses, except that just seemed really weird and almost beastial and completely untrue.”

“I would have believed it if you had said cats, but not horses,” said Glorfindel as he nuzzled at Fingon.

“Why are you embarrassed by this?” asked Erestor gently.

“Why are you interrogating me?”

Erestor let go of Fingon’s wrist and touched his cheek. “I am sorry. I also think it to be very sweet.”

“Alright, but it sounds either juvenile or creepy,” said Fingon.

“I used to go into the library before Erestor arrived in the mornings and put vases of flowers on his desk for him,” explained Glorfindel.

Fingon nodded. “I vaguely recall being told something about that. That sounds innocent enough. Sweet and endearing.”

“Mmhmm. Except I had to break in using a spare key, and I generally just put yellow flowers in the vase. I also had a variety of pet names for him, even though we were not romantically involved at that time,” said Glorfindel.

“You once rammed me up against the circulation desk,” Erestor recalled.

“I did not -- I just sort of… it was more like a very insistent public cuddling,” said Glorfindel firmly.

“Insistent public cuddling. Huh.” Fingon shook his head in judgement.

“Sorry. Should I stop? I should probably stop,” Glorfindel decided.

Fingon patted Glorfindel’s shoulder. “Oh, no, please, keep going. You are helping me sound less creepy.”

“You are not creepy. Really, neither of you are.” Erestor withdrew his leg and stretched an arm so that he could put it around Fingon and reach all the way over to rub the back of Glorfindel’s neck. “Creepy is Annatar. Annatar was creepy.”

“Oh, agreed,” said Glorfindel. “I thought we were talking about nice things and lovers, though.” 

Fingon turned to look at Erestor, and then to Glorfindel. “I think he… Eres? You have that ‘I said shit I did not mean to say’ look on your face.”

“You are both lovely, and very sweet to me, albeit a bit a odd now and then -- but an endearing sort of odd,” said Erestor.

“He says things sometimes, like little clues, and then he changes his mind about it.” Fingon whispered this to Glorfindel, knowing full well that Erestor could hear. “I mean, we could ask him, but I feel like he really wishes he said a name other than Mairon’s, because something happened that he wants to talk about, but also, wants to keep buried.”

Erestor withdrew his hand from the back of Glorfindel’s neck and sat quietly. “I still have trouble processing what happened.”

“He must have hurt you,” guessed Fingon quietly.

“He manipulated me,” answered Erestor. “Repeatedly.”

It was all Erestor would offer, and the room was darker now-- some candles had burned to the end of their wicks, and the few still lit cast uneasy shadows around them. “Well… whatever it is, I wish we could go back and make it not happen for you. And I know you like to keep a lot of things to yourself because you think it burdens others, and I can sympathize with that, because there are a lot of things that I will never be able to understand. You went through a lot. Glorfindel and I had our own trials, but honestly, sometimes it is the survivors who suffer more.”

Erestor bit at his thumbnail, but said nothing in return.

“Fingon is right,” spoke up Glorfindel. “We cannot make it go away, but I wish we could. What you might think to be a burden -- how many times, in Rivendell, and here, did you sit up with me at night when the storms threatened to drive me mad? How many lanterns did you light so that I would not need to sleep in the dark? You shared that distress with me by being there and caring about me. Let me, and let Fingon, share in your pain. You might have been alone when whatever terrible things that happened to you occurred, but you are not alone now.”

Erestor had shifted his body so that he was leaning toward the arm of the sofa with his back to his companions. “I had no idea where to start. And it seems a poor way to end this evening.”

“Oh, this is not how the evening ends. We are going to end the evening by holding you and telling you how much we both love you. And possibly trying to come up with adventure stories for Glorfindel’s plush animal menagerie,” said Fingon. He placed a hand upon Erestor’s shoulder. “And if you really prefer not to talk about it now, just know that whenever you are ready, we are here.”

Erestor nodded, but still did not face them. “I am not ready to talk about it.”

“Alright. Some other time, then,” said Fingon. Erestor slowly nodded, and Fingon gave Erestor’s shoulder a squeeze. “Next on the agenda then is snuggling and stuffed animal adventure stories.”

“I almost forgot that I had a giant green and white frog,” Glorfindel suddenly recalled. “It was bigger than most of the others, and it was terribly disproportionate. The body was spherical, and the arms and legs were tiny. The head was a bit off, too, and it had giant eyes that scared my sister so much that we eventually put it into the attic.”

“Where undoubtedly, he became the Frog King and ruled over all of the forgotten things that are put into attics,” offered Fingon.

Erestor finally turned around and brushed a hand over Fingon’s hair. “With your imagination, how did you not have imaginary friends?”

“I had no idea that was even a thing anyone could have until tonight,” Fingon admitted. “Should we make an imaginary friend for me?”

“I might get jealous of them,” warned Erestor.

Fingon snapped his fingers. “What about imaginary cat friends?” His eyes widened. “I could have an imaginary pack of tigers!”

“I do not think tigers are pack animals,” countered Erestor.

“Maybe imaginary ones are,” Fingon said. “Never considered that, did you? Giant, imaginary blue and orange tigers.”

“Blue tigers?” Glorfindel smiled. “I thought tigers were black and orange.”

“Pff, your imagination is boring if your tigers are all black and orange,” said Fingon. He stood up and offered a hand to Erestor. “Would you like to help me name my imaginary tiger pack?”

“Tigers are definitely solitary.” Erestor took hold of Fingon’s hand and was pulled up from the sofa. “Solo hunters. I know I read that somewhere.”

“Oh, like how we are all sort of solitary in our ways, except we somehow all ended up together?”

Erestor shifted his gaze to Glorfindel. “You and I might be more solitary creatures, but…”

“I am really shy and introverted, and you know that,” argued Glorfindel. 

“Shy little tiger kitten,” said Fingon as he reached over and petted Glorfindel’s head.

“Wait… does your imaginary ‘pack’ of tigers consist of three male tigers?” 

Fingon grinned and shrugged at Erestor’s question. “Maybe.” He put an arm around Erestor’s waist. “Come on. Tell you all about them upstairs.”

“I think mine should have orange and gold stripes, and also, it should be the small one,” added Glorfindel.

“A tiny shy golden tiger kitten?” Fingon looked over his shoulder to smile at Glorfindel while leading Erestor to the stairway.

“Maybe not a kitten,” said Glorfindel as he followed up the steps. “It should be an adult tiger so he can wrestle with the other tigers. Tigers do wrestle, right, Erestor?” 

“I think all cats wrestle,” Erestor answered when they reached the landing. 

“You know what else wrestles?” asked Fingon. “Elves,” he said without waiting for an answer.

Glorfindel stepped around his companions to reach the door first. “Erestor used to do that,” he said as he opened the door and stepped inside.

“No, I boxed,” corrected Erestor. “More hitting, less pinning.”

“Oh, good. So you will not have an unfair advantage,” declared Fingon.

“For what?” asked Erestor.

Fingon turned to Erestor and smirked. “I was going to throw you down on the bed, but now that I think of it… we should team up against Glorfindel. He is the small tiger, after all.” Erestor looked over his shoulder and nodded in agreement.

“Wait, what?” questioned Glorfindel as Fingon kicked the door shut.

**Author's Note:**

> Looking for the Bunniverse Order? Find it here: https://docs.google.com/spreadsheets/d/1R7e1nky65lxhvfIabDX7n_TbknuhMH0m4eero6A-GC0/edit?usp=sharing


End file.
